


Just Gonna Stand There and Watch Me Burn

by magneticdice



Series: A.U.gust 2015 [2]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Challenge: A.U.gust, Child Abuse, Domestic Violence, M/M, character death (not ian or mickey), firefighter!ian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-02
Updated: 2015-09-17
Packaged: 2018-04-12 16:24:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4486554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magneticdice/pseuds/magneticdice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Firefighter AU, sort of? not really though (read that last part in Mickey's voice)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> thanks to katie for being the bestest beta ever! go read her shameless fics [here](http://archiveofourown.org/users/stubliminalmessaging/works?fandom_id=245573).
> 
> updates to this fic will be posted on every sunday this month. there are five chapters total and it’s almost totally finished. kudos and comments are greatly appreciated! enjoy

There were a lot of things Mickey had accepted about his life on the South Side, things that ‒ given a choice ‒ he would have preferred not to do. He knew that he had to step up and lead his brothers because they were too dumb to not get themselves killed if he didn’t. He knew that he had to protect his little sister at all costs, because Mandy was the only girl in the family, and because, if he didn’t look out for her, no one else would. He knew that he had to keep his sexuality under wraps, otherwise someone ‒ most probably his father ‒ would kill him for being gay. But the most important thing Mickey had to accept was that Terry Milkovich was King, and that his will was law. Mickey couldn’t disobey his dad, no matter what.

As long as Mickey played by the rules, his life wasn’t so bad. He kept to his room as often as he could, limiting the amount of time he spent around his dad whenever he didn’t have to be near him, with the logic that he couldn’t get beaten for fucking up if he wasn’t seen fucking up. Sometimes it worked, but other times Terry would come home in a foul mood and actively look for a child to pound on. Mickey and his siblings quickly learned that keeping their dad happy was the simplest way to survive.

Somehow, Mickey and Mandy managed to do more than just survive. His sister was the first one in their family to go to college. “The only way we’re gonna get out of here is if we climb out,” she’d said, handing her brother a community college course catalogue to read through. It had only taken her a week of nagging to convince him to enroll, with the caveat that she would help him study for his GED first. Two years later, they both graduated, and celebrated by getting shitfaced together at the Alibi.

They leaned against each other as they walked home, Mandy stumbling every so often and Mickey catching her by the shoulder to steady her. They had to stop and get their bearings a couple of times, the streets of their neighborhood not so easy to navigate when everything seemed to be spinning around. When they walked through the shitty playground a couple of blocks from their house, Mandy decided to plop down on a park bench. She produced a box of cigarettes and a lighter from somewhere inside her bra and offered one to Mickey before lighting one up for herself.

“We did it,” she told him, squeezing his knee in a rare moment of affection. “We actually did it.”

Mickey blew the smoke out of his lungs and smirked at his sister. “Fuck yeah, we did,” he said by way of answer.

“I’m proud of you,” she admitted, the corners of her eyes crinkling from her huge grin.

Mickey rolled his eyes with a huff and flipped her off, but Mandy easily laughed off his reaction. She finished her cigarette and slid off the bench, continuing her arduous task of getting home. Mickey jammed his cigarette butt into the bench and had to run to catch up with her.

On any other night, Mickey would have noticed the signs. He would have seen the light of the TV on despite their living room being completely dark, would have smelled the crappy meth before walking in, would have seen the crushed beer cans in the entryway because Terry liked to throw shit when he was drunk and bored. But on this night, he was too wasted from celebrating their one gigantic victory to pay attention to those kinds of things.

Terry was in his face before he could get both feet through the door. “Where the fuck have you been?” he demanded. His breath was hot, the thick smell of alcohol assaulting Mickey’s nose.

Mickey leaned back to put some distance between himself and his dad, but they were standing in the doorway and the space was limited because his sister was right behind him.

“Nowhere,” Mandy answered before Mickey even had a chance to think of a decent reply.

Somehow, despite the fact that Mickey was standing between them, Terry managed to backhandedly slap Mandy right across her cheek. “I didn’t fucking ask you,” he snarled at her.

Mandy gasped (out of shock or pain, Mickey wasn’t entirely sure) and held her hand up to cup her cheek. Without thinking twice, Mickey spun around and shoved his sister back out of the house and onto the porch. “Get the fuck out of here,” he ordered, then slammed the door shut on her before she could object or try anything else stupid.

He knew what was going to happen, and he knew he couldn’t fight back, or else it would be worse. He remembered smiling just before the first punch came, thinking that at least it wouldn’t hurt as much, what with all the alcohol in his system. He didn’t remember much else after that…

He was in his bed when he woke up a couple of hours later, Mandy sitting on the floor beside him with a bloody towel and bowl of water in her lap. “You’re an idiot,” she told him, scowling and looking away, but not before Mickey saw the streaks of mascara that had run down her face.

Mickey opened his mouth to reply but winced as he felt a cut in his lip tear open even more. He decided that answering Mandy would require too much effort, so he sighed and closed his eyes, letting his sister dab at his face again. He didn’t complain when Mandy spent the night in his room.

The following morning, he woke up with a start from the sound of his bedroom door slamming open against the wall, the sound pulling him out of a dream where he’d been watching his dad burn. Mickey remained unmoving, frozen in his bed as Terry walked through his bedroom to get to the bathroom. Mandy began to stir beside him but Mickey breathed a sharp “shush” to her under his breath. He stared at the bathroom door, to where Terry was pissing with the door open while holding on to the frame with his left hand, cigarette dangling between his fingers the entire time. Mickey stared at the white and yellow stick as it burned, a combination of fear and anger causing him to grip his sheets so hard that his knuckles were white.

Terry didn’t bother flushing when he was done, just walked out without a single glance towards the son he’d just beaten to a pulp mere hours ago. Mickey’s eyes trailed after him, still focused on the red and orange embers that continued to glow at the end of the cigarette, not nearly as bright as the flames in his dream.

He heard Mandy swallow hard beside him and turned to look at her face. She didn’t have to say anything for him to know exactly what she was thinking, because he was thinking it too: it didn’t matter that they had finished college or that they had been saving up their money to be able to afford an apartment. The truth was that their dad would never let them get out. They would always be stuck there, fucked for life as long as Terry was alive. Mickey had to look away; the weight of it all was too much to think about right then.

Mickey tried not to think about his dream, but now that the idea was in his head, he couldn’t stop thinking about it. It was like a lightbulb had suddenly been lit up above his head, as if he were in one of those cartoons. It got brighter and warmer as it took hold, growing until it was all he could see, the white-hot center of light blinding him to any kind of logic or common sense. Even when he closed his eyes, it was all he saw.  
It was the only solution, really… their only way of getting out.


	2. Chapter 2

When the truck pulled up to the house that night, Ian was one of the first to jump down. He wanted to dive right in and be a hero ‒ the whole reason he became a firefighter in the first place, but he waited dutifully for his orders from the captain like a good little probie before entering the fray.

Ian had only seen a few fires in his short career so far, but this one was probably bigger than all of them combined. The old house was burning so brightly that the whole street was lit up, and he could see the flames violently dancing through the windows as the smoke rolled up the side of the brick building.

Ian’s job was to connect the hose to the hydrant and open it up, then set up a safe fire line perimeter around the house to keep the neighbors and other onlookers at bay. He knew better than to scoff at the simple tasks: he had only just passed his fireman’s exam, and as the newest member of the team, would have to be the one to do the most menial tasks.

He asked the crowd that had gathered to back up until they were well beyond the truck and proceeded to cordon off the area with yellow tape. When he was done, he had a moment to turn around and look at the fire again. He cringed from the heat that radiated from the house, the warmth of it already creating a thin layer of sweat along his brow. He sighed in frustration when he tried to wipe at it with his sleeve; the thick canvas of his jacket, as well as the rest of his gear, was great for keeping flames away, but it was not as helpful when he was forced to just stand there. Ian felt like he was sweating his balls off, but took his gloves off and settled for wiping his forehead with his fingers.

It was only when he brought his hand down that he noticed the two people standing on the lawn, watching the house burn. He didn’t know how he had missed them when setting up the perimeter. As he approached, he couldn’t help but overhear some of their conversation.

“You couldn’t have given me a heads-up, assface?” the girl said coldly. Ian couldn’t see her face, just the long black hair that went down to the middle of her back. She stood hugging herself with her arms, as if she were freezing, despite the fact that it was quite the opposite.

“There wasn’t time,” the guy replied, shaking his head stiffly. Ian could see the tension in his shoulders as he spoke, even from behind him.

He gently put a hand on the guy’s arm to get his attention, then had to take a step back when the guy whipped around and raised a fist at him.

“Easy, easy!” Ian told him, taking another step back, but standing up to his full height, his way of saying he didn’t want to start a fight but wouldn’t back down from one either.

He saw the girl ‒ who he could now tell was clearly the guy’s sister, since they looked like they could be twins ‒ pull down almost imperceptibly on the hoodie sleeve on the side of her brother’s raised fist, then saw his bright blue eyes dart to hers instantly. “It’s okay, Mickey,” she whispered, and Ian could see that her eyes were just as blue as her brother’s, but filled with tears that she was desperately holding back. The guy, Mickey, let his hand drop and Ian watched as his clenched fists slowly relaxed at his sides.

Ian quickly made the assumption that, going off of the fact that the siblings in front of him weren’t wearing any shoes, they lived in the home that was now crumbling before them as the rest of his engine company worked to put out the flames. The girl wiped at her cheek with an ashy, trembling hand, leaving a black smudge on the side of her face. Against their protests and their insistence that they were fine, he led them over to one of the ambulances that had arrived after the trucks and had them checked out.

For some reason, Ian lingered with the siblings. He knew he should have been checking with the captain to see if there was anything more helpful he could be doing, but since another engine had come to the scene already, he knew they were more than adequately manned. He stayed beside the ambulance the entire time, and even breathed a small sigh of relief when the EMT told him that they only had suffered from very mild smoke inhalation.

“Told you we were fine,” Mickey sneered, batting the EMT’s hand off of his arm. Ian could see that the guy clearly did not take kindly to being touched.

He was about to ask them if they had anyone they needed him to call on their behalf, since it was obvious that they didn’t have time to grab shoes, let alone their cell phones, when he heard a voice come through his com’s speaker.

“We got a body,” the captain announced. Ian immediately reached for his com to lower the volume, because he knew that the siblings should _not_ have heard that, but there wasn’t much more he could do; it was already too late.

Everyone’s attention whipped towards the front door to the house, and they waited for what seemed like an eternity until the firefighters carried out the limp form of a heavy man. Before he could ask them anything else, he was called away by the captain. Ian chanced a look at Mickey and Mandy as he walked away, both of whom stood with their lips pressed in tight, grim lines, and he couldn’t help but feel inexplicably worried about them. He chalked it up to the fact that he was new to the job, or that, like his brother Lip told him all the time, he cared _too_ much.

Ian spent the next hour packing up his company’s gear, refolding the hoses and generally cleaning up everything. When he was finally finished with his grunt work, he rushed back to the side of the ambulance where he had last seen the siblings. They were busy talking to the fire marshal, and Ian inched closer while keeping in the ambulance’s shadows in order to eavesdrop.

“We already told the other fireman what happened,” Mandy said, sounding very annoyed. From his position behind the marshall, Ian could see that she stood with her arms crossed again.

“Why don’t you tell _me_ , from the top?” the marshall asked.

“This is _fucking_ ridiculous,” Mickey complained, laughing wryly. He tipped his head back as if praying for help before answering the marshal. “We’ve been here for an hour, getting checked out even though we’re fine and then having to explain everything to that fat mick over there,” he said, pointing at Captain O’Connell, “and now you want us to go through it a second time? What, you don’t believe us?” he accused.

“Sir, I understand that you’re tired and that you’ve been through an ordeal, but I’d like to hear it again from the source,” the marshal calmly explained. He held out his hands with his palms up, as if he were trying to convey that he was only after the truth, but it only seemed to irritate Mickey more.

Ian heard a deep sigh before Mandy spoke. “My dad was drinking all night. He always smokes while drinking. When I went to sleep, he was in the living room with a bottle of Jack in one hand, and a cigarette in the other.” She looked to the side at Mickey for a second, then looked back to the marshal. “He must have fallen asleep and dropped the cigarette. Next thing I know, Mickey’s waking me up, there’s smoke everywhere, and he’s dragging me out the back door.”

The marshal took out a notepad and wrote something down. “Mr. Milkovich, what about you?” he asked Mickey.

“What _about_ me?” Mickey spat.

The marshal raised an eyebrow. “What did you see? Were you asleep too?”

“Yeah. I woke up coughing, saw the smoke and the flames in the living room,  covered my face with a towel, got my sister out, and that’s it.”

“And the cuts on your face?” the marshal asked.

Ian saw Mickey bite at his bottom lip with his teeth and then wince, spitting out his lip quickly, obviously forgetting that he had a split lip.

“Must have fallen or something on my way out of the house,” the brunet muttered. Ian ventured moving even closer so that he could see Mickey’s face. He didn’t know _how_ he had missed the cuts and obvious swelling before, but it was more than apparent now.

The marshal didn’t seem to believe Mickey’s answer, but didn’t push it any further. Mickey finally noticed Ian standing beside the ambulance and held his gaze. Ian couldn’t look away, and it seemed like Mickey couldn’t either. The marshal finished asking them questions and eventually left the siblings alone.

Ian stepped forward, only looking away from Mickey when Mandy coughed awkwardly. “Are you guys alright?” he asked, then immediately wished he could shove his foot into his mouth. “I mean… I know your house just burned down and your dad is dead…” he laughed awkwardly, then covered his mouth with his hand, eyes growing wide with shock at his own words. What the fuck was wrong with him?

Mickey raised an eyebrow at him, obviously wondering the same thing, and Ian felt his neck get warm, this time _not_ because of the fire.

“Do you have a place to stay? Is there anything I can do to help you guys?” Ian tried again, finally getting his verbal diarrhea under control.

“We’ll be fine,” Mandy told him, voice gruff. She grabbed Mickey’s arm and pulled him as she walked past Ian, who turned and watched the barefoot siblings walk away down the wet street.


	3. Chapter 3

After going to the morgue and identifying Terry’s body, Mickey and Mandy were told that they could go and that the police would be in touch if they had any questions. They temporarily moved in with their aunt, but she made it abundantly clear that they were anything but welcome. Mickey knew that if it had just been Mandy, their aunt probably would have been fine with letting her stay, but two additional mouths to feed (not that she actually cared to feed them) was crossing a line. He had a feeling they would only end up staying with her for a couple of days.

Mickey got in touch with his brothers who were still out on a job in Indiana and told them what had happened. He knew he would probably have to be the one to organize Terry’s funeral, but that was the last thing he wanted to think about.

“You don’t always have to look out for everyone,” Mandy told him solemnly, joining him on the front stoop. “You can let other people make decisions for themselves, you know.”

Mickey huffed out a snort, as if any of what she was saying was true. She reached over and grabbed his cigarette. He was too tired to object.

“I’m serious,” she said, blowing smoke in his face and grinning.

“Fuck off,” he scowled, waving a hand through the smoke before taking his cigarette back. He should have known better than to just let her take it in the first place.

“Uncle Ronnie can make the funeral arrangements,” she insisted. He turned to see her expression, to get some kind of clue about how she was really feeling about it all, but Mandy looked away before he could meet her eyes. It was obvious that she didn’t want to talk about burying their dad either.

“It’s not that easy,” he muttered. “You think Iggy and Colin are just gonna magically find new work to do? What about a place to live? We have just enough saved for a little shithole for us somewhere on the South Side ‒ definitely nothing big enough for them too.”

He glared at Mandy, waiting for her to answer.

“Come on… it’s not that bad,” she eventually said, knocking at his knee with hers. “We’re college graduates now!” Her voice was dripping with false cheer, making him roll his eyes at her attempt to lighten the mood.

“Think of it this way,” Mandy tried again, putting a hand on his shoulder. He quickly shrugged it off, and she shrugged. “With dad gone, at least you don’t have to keep pretending to be straight.”

Mickey froze, cigarette halfway to his mouth, but it only took him a second to recover. “The fuck you talkin’ about?” he asked her with a forced laugh.

Mandy stood up and turned to face him, crossing her arms. “Do _not_ even try it, douchebag. I’ve seen the porn you keep inside those gun magazines in the bathroom that you think no one ever reads.”

Mickey felt the color rise in his cheeks and knew that his sister would spot his blush in matter of seconds. All those years of denying it to himself, pretending he enjoyed fucking random girls in the neighborhood, all that _effort_ hiding the truth from his family…

He had two options: he could go on pretending, by denying it to his sister’s face and acting offended by the mere accusation in an attempt to convince her, or he could come clean. Now that Terry wasn’t this huge threat hovering over him, there was no reason to keep it a secret anymore ‒ at least, not from Mandy.

He met her stare for just a second before covering his face with his hands in a combination of embarrassment and exhaustion. He dragged his fingers down as he sighed, “I need a fucking drink…”

Mandy’s laughter surprised him.

“I know exactly what you need,” she said excitedly, pulling him up by his arm, lips twisting into a mischievous grin.

The next thing Mickey knew, he was being dragged to a club called the White Swallow, all the way out in Boystown. It took him a while, but thoughts of fires, funerals and family faded from his mind with each fruity, fagotty drink Mandy forced into his fingers. His sister even got him out onto the dance floor, and after the fifth drink, Mickey stopped complaining about looking like an idiot. He had to admit that being there, even with his sister of all people, was actually kind of fun.

Every few minutes, Mandy pointed across the dance floor to some random guy and asked Mickey what he thought of him, trying to narrow down his type. He wanted to tell his sister he didn’t need any help getting laid ‒ that he got fucked just fine without her help, and if he had been in a crappier mood, he probably _would_ have told her just that, but he was feeling good and carefree so he nodded or shook his head accordingly. Somehow the fact that his sister was cared enough to ask and evidently wasn’t bothered by the fact that he was gay made everything okay.

“I need another drink,” Mickey told her, leaning close so that she would hear him over the music.

“Get me another appletini!” she yelled back.

He nodded and made his way to the bar. “Two appletinis,” he called out, putting a twenty dollar bill on the table. The bartender nodded to him and got started making the drinks. Mickey leaned with his back against the bar, taking advantage of the temporary break from dancing to catch his breath. He looked over at Mandy, who was still dancing by herself as if she was the only one out on the dance floor, and couldn’t help but smile.

“For someone who just lost his dad last night, you sure look like you’re having fun.”

Mickey’s head snapped to the source of the words, his smile instantly twisting to a scowl. Sitting beside him at the bar was the ginger firefighter from the previous night. The only difference was that instead of the heavy, unflattering gear he’d worn then, he was wearing a tight-fitting black tank top and a pair of well-worn jeans. As he took the guy’s appearance in, Mickey couldn’t help but let his eyes linger on the guy’s muscled arms for a second too long… just long enough for the firefighter to notice, and for it to become _very_ awkward.

“Relax, I’m just kidding,” the redhead said, blushing slightly. “God knows if _my_ dad had been the one to die, my siblings and I would be out celebrating too,” he muttered so low that Mickey almost didn’t hear it over the heavy bass of the current song.

Mickey didn’t know what to add to the conversation (not that it was really a conversation, since he hadn’t really said anything yet) so he just continued standing there, staring at the redhead while waiting for his drinks.

“Do you come here often?” the firefighter asked him, and when Mickey raised an eyebrow at him, the redhead’s cheeks got even darker. “Oh God, that sounded like the worst pickup line ever. I was trying to ‒ what I mean is...” he stuttered, “I’ve never seen you here before.”

Maybe it was the alcohol, or the strange feeling of freedom that had been bubbling inside of him since they had identified Terry’s body, but something made him smile at the redhead’s pathetic attempt at flirting. “And you would know because you’re some kind of regular here?” he joked.

“Um, no… not exactly,” he said, then looked down guiltily.

Mickey suddenly realized he might have been a little to confident in thinking that the firefighter was flirting with him. He looked around, expecting to see the guy’s date waiting for him somewhere. “Then what the fuck is it?” he bit back, mood changing on a dime.

The redhead looked up at him, expression worried, just like it had been on the night of the fire. “I used to work here,” he confessed. “As a dancer, a couple of years back… All I meant was that I would have remembered you,” he added, openly flirting once again, undoubtedly in an attempt to get Mickey comfortable.

To Mickey’s surprise, it worked. He felt himself relaxing more with every passing moment that the taller man smiled at him with those eager, innocent green eyes of his.

“You mean to tell me you were up on one of those platforms, shaking your ass in silver booty shorts for these geriatric viagroids to fawn over?”

“Pretty much, except back then the uniforms were gold.”

Mickey turned to see that the bartender had finally finished making his drinks. “You’d figure they’re charging so much for this shit, they might try not taking ten hours to make ‘em,” he complained, eliciting a laugh from the ginger.

“You want another one, Ian?” the bartender asked the redhead.

“Thanks, Eli. I’m good,” he said, nodding to him before finally taking a swig from the bottle he’d just left sitting in front of him on the bar the whole time they’d been talking.

“Should’a just ordered a beer,” he said to Mickey with a smirk, and Mickey felt like such a complete loser with his douchey appletinis.

“It’s for my sister,” the brunet said in explanation, tilting his head towards Mandy who was still dancing, oblivious to everyone else around her. “She wanted to get my mind off of… everything,” he said.

“Is it working?”

Mickey shrugged. He took a sip from the green cocktail and cursed at himself internally because fuck it, it really _did_ taste delicious, even though he would never admit it to anyone.

“So _Ian_ ,” he said, testing out the redhead’s name, “how did you get from dancing here to putting out fires in the South Side?” he wondered.

The redhead grinned at him, apparently happy that Mickey was the one keeping the conversation going now. “What, I can’t want to help the people in my neighborhood?” he asked back. He grinned again. “My brother thinks I have a hero complex or something,” he told Mickey, shrugging. “Dunno… maybe he’s right. All I know is that it feels good doing something that can save lives.”

“Seems like a waste though, letting your dancing skills go to waste,” Mickey teased.

“Maybe I can show them to you sometime,” Ian told him with a laugh, looking him in the eye before adding, “you know, so I don’t fall out of practice.”

Mickey bit his bottom lip, about to agree to anything and everything when his sister decided that _now_ was the time to notice Mickey’s absence.

Mandy reached around Mickey and grabbed her drink. “Hey dickhead, what’s taking you so long?”

Mickey rubbed at his lip nervously with the back of his thumb and looked at Ian until Mandy followed his gaze.

Her mouth made a small “o” shape before she narrowed her eyes at Mickey. She flashed Ian a forced smile and dragged Mickey a few steps away from the bar before turning on him.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” she shouted. “That’s the firefighter from last night!”

“I know it is,” Mickey told her, frowning.

“Did he follow us? Did he ask you any questions? Do you think he knows?” She fired off question after question, not even waiting for him to answer.

“Jesus Christ! Don’t get your fucking titties in a twist,” Mickey said, trying to keep his voice low but at the same time making sure Mandy could hear him over the din. “It ain’t anything like that.”

“Mickey…”

“I said it ain’t like that,” he repeated.

“Then what is it like?” she demanded.

Mickey looked back to the bar, at where Ian was intently watching them bicker with a frown on his face, and he instantly felt guilty for talking to the guy.

“It’s nothing,” he said while turning away, pushing the redhead from his mind. Mandy was right: he was playing with fire, figuratively speaking (although the irony of that statement wasn’t lost on him). “Let’s just forget about it.”

Mandy rolled her eyes, tipped her martini glass back and drank the contents all in one shot. She walked to Ian and sneered at him as she put the glass down onto the bar, then led Mickey back to the dance floor.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter was beta'd by my husband bc i wrote it so late, oops. also, i decided to make it 6 chapters instead of 5, because why not? might even make it 7 if i decide to write out some more smut later on...

Ian couldn’t believe his luck when he spotted Mickey Milkovich in the middle of the dance floor of the White Swallow. No matter how hard he’d tried distracting himself, he’d been thinking about the brunet for the last twenty-four hours. He’d fought the urge to find him and check up on him (because, where would he even start?), so he’d come out to the club in one last attempt to get his mind off of Mickey. Yup, that had worked perfectly.

Things actually were going well… Ian even found the balls to offer Mickey a fucking lap dance! But then Mandy had interrupted them, and for some reason, Mickey had left without so much as an explanation.

He’d just been able to make out Mandy’s words over the dance music: _“What the fuck are you doing?! Did he follow us? Did he ask you any questions? Do you think he knows?”_ Then she’d sneered at Ian before slamming her martini glass onto the bar behind him and dragging Mickey away. The only problem was that he had no idea what the hell she was talking about.

He spent the next hour nursing his beer and watching the siblings dance, until Mickey started walking away towards the bathroom. Ian didn’t know what possessed him, but he got up and followed the shorter man. He kept a safe distance and watched Mickey go down the hallway and around the corner, where the door to the men’s room was. As soon as Ian entered, he was confronted by a waiting Mickey, who was standing just inside of the otherwise empty room with his arms crossed.

Ian grinned in a combination of embarrassment and excitement, and the brunet’s stubborn scowl slowly slipped away, lips twisting unwillingly into a sly smile.

“Isn’t this against the rules or something?” Mickey accused, jutting his chin forward stubbornly.

“What?” Ian wondered, confused by the question. Everyone knew that the rules that applies to normal places did _not_ apply to bathrooms in gay clubs. It was actually a miracle that they were alone for the moment, considering that normally there’d be a couple of people doing lines of coke by the sinks or struggling to fuck in the confines of a dirty stall.

Mickey uncrossed his hands and took a step towards Ian. “You know, like how doctors can’t sleep with their patients or whatever. Isn’t this against the rules?”

Ian laughed at the absurdity of Mickey’s question. The guys in his firehouse hooked up with chicks they “rescued” all the time. It was taboo to talk about it, but that didn’t mean it didn’t happen all the time anyway.

Only, Mickey didn’t give him a chance to explain any of that. He moved forward in lightning speed and before Ian could even take a breath, Mickey’s lips were on his. Ian’s eyes were open wide in shock. An hour ago, he’d been the one aggressively flirting with Mickey, and now, here they were, roles reversed.

He closed his eyes and let Mickey take complete control. His mouth was warm and delicious; Ian could taste the sugary appletinis he’d watched Mickey drink earlier that night as the brunet slid his tongue past Ian’s lips. He ran his fingers up the back of Mickey’s neck and into his hair, then dug them in and grabbed whatever he could to pull Mickey even closer.

The brunet responded to Ian’s touch by forcing Ian backwards until they were pressed up against the back of the closed door, bodies so flush Ian could feel Mickey’s erection rubbing up on his thigh. He bit Ian’s lower lip and gently pulled back with a growl, but Ian didn’t want them to stop for even a second so he spun them around and closed the gap between them, shoving his tongue into Mickey’s mouth. It was the most aggressive, hottest kiss Ian had ever experienced, and he _never_ wanted it to end.

“I wanna fuck you,” Ian grunted when they eventually came up for air, foreheads and bodies still pressed together. He grinded against Mickey to illustrate his point.

“We’re in the fucking bathroom,” the brunet huffed.

“I don’t care,” Ian said, kissing him again. He moved his hands down Mickey’s back, all the way down to the shorter man’s bubble butt. He grabbed both cheeks by the fistful and moaned in appreciation.

“Yeah, well… I do,” Mickey huffed against Ian’s lips.

“Let’s go somewhere else then,” Ian offered.

“Where? Can’t exactly take you back to my place…” he complained.

“Because your sister hates me?” he wondered.

Ian turned his head to the side and could see the brunet’s cocked eyebrow in response to his question.

“No, idiot, because it’s a fucking pile of ash,” Mickey said sarcastically, with only a hint of bitterness in his voice.

“Right, sorry,” Ian muttered.

Mickey surprised him by kissing at the corner of Ian’s frown. “What about your place?” he suggested.

“Can’t take guests to the firehouse,” Ian sighed, feeling defeated.

“You live at the firehouse?”

“Whenever I’m on duty, yeah… but I don’t think we can go to my house either. Lots of siblings,” he said by way of explanation.

“So where does that leave us?” Mickey asked.

“Rutting against each other in a dirty bathroom stall,” Ian said, rolling his hips against Mickey’s once again.

“C’mon man, I said I don’t wanna do it in here,” Mickey told him with a laugh.

“Can’t help it,” Ian said. He wanted him so badly… “You’re so fucking hot,” he whispered against Mickey’s ear. He licked at his earlobe and felt the brunet’s body involuntarily shudder against his.

“Shut up,” Mickey whined, pushing the redhead a few inches back.

“I’m serious,” Ian insisted, grinning. “Do you even see yourself?”

The shorter man visibly blushed at the compliment.

They felt the door move behind them, their alone time in the bathroom obviously coming to an end. They stepped aside and let some tweeker enter, Ian adjusting himself so that his massive hard-on wasn’t so obvious.

Mickey sighed heavily. “I should go before Mandy notices how long I’ve been gone.”

Ian did _not_ want Mickey to leave, but was distracted by the mention of Mickey’s sister. He thought about how strange Mandy had been earlier... She’d seemed so different when he’d first met her, being able to calm Mickey down like she had. He didn’t know why she’d been so rude to him at the bar.

“What did she mean before?” Ian asked before Mickey could leave.

“What?”

“When she asked you if I knew,” he clarified. “Knew what?”

Mickey got noticeably quiet and uneasy, even biting on his bottom lip. Ian furrowed his brows, waiting for an answer, but all the brunet said was a clipped, “I have to go.”

“What? No, wait,” Ian tried, reaching for Mickey’s tattooed hand. Mickey glared up at Ian with a look that was half “I’m gonna kill you” and half “bend me over the nearest toilet seat and fuck me,” the former reminding him of the guy he’d first met at the fire and so _clearly_ did not like being touched against his will. Sadly, Ian could tell that the latter half wasn’t gonna win, no matter how hard they both were.

“ _I said I have to go_ ,” Mickey repeated, shaking his hand free of Ian’s grip.

Ian watched as Mickey hurried out of the bathroom, but couldn’t bring himself to chase after the brunet again.


	5. Chapter 5

Mandy thoroughly berated Mickey for disappearing at the club. She [rightfully] assumed that Mickey had gone to talk to the firefighter, even after her warnings, but he definitely wasn’t going to admit to anything.

They left the club shortly afterwards, only to go another one down the block. Mandy’s plan to get him drunk and keep his mind off of their dad was completely working. They helped each other get back to their aunt’s house as the sun came up behind them, and passed out on opposite ends of the couch, feet overlapping in the middle, just like they used to do when they were kids.

He felt like he’d only been sleeping a couple of minutes when he heard banging on the door. Mandy mumbled something incoherent and kicked at him until he got up and went to see who the hell was bothering them so early. A quick glance at the cable box told him it wasn’t early at all, but was almost six in the evening. He was almost relieved that his aunt hadn’t woken them up yet.

He opened the door, squinting to protect his eyes as light flooded into the house. Ian was standing in front of him and Mickey wasn’t sure if what he was seeing was real or if his massive hangover was making him imagine it.

“Ian?” he groaned, voice hoarse. He rubbed at the sleep in his eyes. “How the fuck did you find me?”

“Google…” the redhead admitted, smiling guiltily. Mickey didn’t know if he should be freaked out or impressed, but decided to go with the latter. He wasn’t used to guys taking enough interest in him to put in that much effort, and he had to bite his lip to keep from smiling at the thought.

“What are you doing here?” he wanted to know. Maybe he hadn’t just imagined their chemistry from the previous night.

“I, uh…” Ian began, then looked past him into the house to where Mandy was complaining about them ‘keeping it the fuck down’.

Mickey looked over his shoulder at his sister and made a decision, then slipped his boots on and headed outside.

“Keep walking,” he told the redhead, not looking back to make sure Ian was following; he just knew he would. Mickey led him to the narrow alley between his aunt’s place and the house next door, then ‒ without any warning ‒ pushed him up against the siding and covered Ian’s mouth with his in a hungry kiss. _Again_. Just like he’d done at the club the night before.

And just like in the bathroom, Ian let Mickey take control. Mickey tasted tentatively with his tongue, and Ian opened his mouth with a low moan, letting Mickey in. He let Mickey press their bodies together, let him sink his fingers into his waist and hold him tightly against him while their hearts raced.

Mickey was overwhelmed by how clean Ian smelled, like he’d just showered. He ran the fingers of one hand through the taller man’s damp hair and his suspicions were confirmed. He used his hold there to pull Ian down a couple of inches so that he could kiss him harder. He gently sucked on Ian’s soft lips and huffed out a small laugh as he noted that Ian tasted like coffee.

Ian smiled when they stopped to breathe. “What are you grinning about?” he wondered, voice heavy with lust.

“Nothing,” Mickey lied. He leaned forward and quickly kissed Ian again. “You taste good,” he admitted, licking his own lips to savor it.

He loved the blush that bloomed on the redhead’s cheeks. “So do you,” Ian admitted. “Like an apple martini,” he added with a grin.

Mickey felt lost in the moment, not wanting look away from the redhead’s beautiful eyes. He felt giddy, and not just because he was rubbing up against Ian’s thigh.

Then he remembered that Ian had never answered his question from earlier. “So why did you come here?” he asked again, resting his forehead against the redhead’s. “If you’re so good with googling shit, you could have called. My aunt’s listed,” he told him with a smirk.

Ian swallowed hard, so Mickey took a step back and raised his eyebrows, waiting for him to spill whatever he came to say.

“Okay,” Ian sighed. “I was at the station this morning and I heard the Fire Marshal talking to the Chief about the fire at your house… Something about them looking deeper into it...”

Mickey’s heart sank. That was _not_ what he’d been expecting at all.

“What _exactly_ did you hear?” he demanded, even though his voice was just a dead whisper.

“Just that they’re not so sure it was an accident. That they suspect there could have been some foul play involved and want to look into it further…” Ian whispered back.

He looked up at Mickey, his eyes searching for something. “They, uh… they found the lighter,” he said just as quietly.

Mickey felt all the blood drain from his face. He pressed his lips together into a thin line, trying to push down the fear that had so abruptly conquered him.

Ian reached a hand up and touched Mickey’s cheek. “Did you…” he began, but the look on Mickey’s face must have told him everything.

Mickey scowled and looked down, batting Ian’s hand away from his face. He had wanted to be free of his dad. He had wanted to save himself and his sister from the situation they were stuck in… and now Terry was still ruining his life, even from the grave. Mickey’s mind was racing, going through all the possibilities of what would happen next. If they were on to him, he knew that he would have to leave town, and he’d have to take Mandy with him. There wasn’t much time…

He started for the house at a quick run.

“Mickey! Where are you going?” Ian shouted from behind him. Mickey ignored him and kept moving but the redhead caught up to him quickly, grabbing his arm by the elbow.

“Why are you always trying to run away from me?” Ian asked with a smile.

Mickey couldn’t believe that the firefighter had the balls to joke around and smile at a time like this. He had basically admitted to setting his own house on fire, they were fucking _on_ to him, and he needed to get the hell out of dodge, but Ian was just casually standing between him and the front door.

“What the _fuck_ is wrong with you?” he yelled, eyes wide.

Ian frowned. “I don’t care what you did,” he told him, shaking his head.

“That’s a load of fucking crap…”

“I don’t,” Ian said even more adamantly. “And it’s okay,” he continued. “I fixed it. You just need to lay low for a while,” Ian told him.

Mickey rolled his eyes at the younger man’s innocence. “Fixed it? What the hell are you talking about? Who the fuck asked you to get involved?”

“You don’t need to ask,” Ian said with a scowl. “I’m not gonna stand by and watch you go down when there’s something I can do to help.”

Mickey remembered what Ian had told him at the club, about his brother thinking he had a hero complex. He didn’t even know _how_ right he’d been. “Go play hero for someone else. I don’t need this shit,” Mickey spat, pushing Ian back a bit. There was no real force behind it though.

“Yeah, you kinda do,” Ian smiled again.

Mickey ground his teeth together. He was getting really annoyed with the redhead’s _chipper_ attitude. “Fuck you.”

“I’d love that,” Ian muttered under his breath.

Mickey would have laughed if he hadn’t just found out his life was basically over. “I’m fucking serious, Ian. Stay out of my business.”

Ian shook his head. “It’s a little late for that. I told you, I already fixed it,” he told Mickey conspiratorially.

The brunet had no idea what he was talking about. “What?” he asked.

Ian reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, plastic ziplock bag. He held it up so that Mickey could see its contents.

“Is that…” Mickey started, then reached up for it. Ian let the evidence bag fall into his palm without hesitation. Inside was Mickey’s lighter, the one he had dropped onto the couch beside the bottle of whiskey that Terry had fallen asleep holding.

“I swiped it off the Chief’s desk when I was emptying his trash,” Ian confessed. “They make the Probie take out the garbage even though there’s a cleaning crew that does it again at night…” he said bitterly. “Well, this serves them right.” He grinned, lips stretching from cheek to cheek in a smug smile.

Mickey didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t even sure about what had just happened.

“It hasn’t been presented to the cops yet,” Ian added. “You can tell because there’s no evidence number on the bag. They’re super strict about that kinda stuff… So, without this,” he said, tapping the lighter in Mickey’s hand softly, “there’s really no other proof that it was anything _but_ an accident,” he concluded.

Mickey opened his mouth to speak but no words came out. He didn’t even know what he _would_ have said; he felt so overwhelmed. He bit his lip, looking from the door of the house to Ian and back again.

Ian took the lighter out of the bag, dropped it onto the ground and stomped on it with all his strength, his boot crushing the plastic against the concrete with a resounding crunch. Mickey sucked in his breath, watching the redhead destroy the only thing that could possibly incriminate him. He was stunned… relieved, to say the least.

Ian reached a hand out and gently grabbed the hem of Mickey’s t-shirt, using it to pull the brunet closer to him until they were mere inches apart. “So don’t you _dare_ run away from me again,” he growled into Mickey’s ear.

Mickey had absolutely no intention of ever running from him again.

“My hero,” he teased just before Ian swallowed him into another kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm sorry that it took me so long to get this last chapter posted and that there was no real smut in this, despite it having a happy ending. i imagine that they will find someplace to get it on in about 5 minutes from where this fic ends. perhaps less.


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